Thursday, March 27, 2008

21 x 24 cmFound Postcard, various colors of thread, found black and white photograph, found paper

I learned how to drive when I was about 12 years old. My best friend J.H. lived on a cul-de-sac and her mom had a VW Bug circa 1962 (or thereabouts), as did my dad - but ours was a bit younger (1970). Can't say there was much to do on our weekends in SB. We'd go to the beach and hang out, but you could only do that for so long, plus it was "cold" sometimes!One day I went over to J.H.'s and she told me she knew how to drive. I wanted to learn how real bad. So she said she would teach me. Me, J.H. and our sisters piled into the Bug. Now that I think about it - I don't think that her mom knew we were doing this...First she drove up and down the cul-de-sac a million times showing me the connection between the clutch and the gear stick. Push in, (keep it pushed in) and push that stick into various gears.

"Don't rev too much.""Don't forget to push the clutch in!""Don't let go of the clutch 'til the gear is in the right place."

We went up and down this block long street all day long. I finally got my chance. I was really small for my age - so we had to pull the seat as close to the steering wheel as possible. I did a lot of gear grinding and of course was anxious, scared but mostly excited!! and somehow I got the hang of it. It was great fun. It quickly became our past time and we would "drive" a lot - meaning up and down her street; Bonnie Lane.

The morning of my 16th birthday I took my driver's license test at the Department of Motor Vehicles and passed. Later I inherited my father's 1970 cherry red Bug. (He had imported it from Germany when we had moved to California in 1971). I loved this car. I used to get notes on my car asking me if I wanted to sell it because it was in such pristine shape. I think I liked the sound of the engine the most but I also remember loving the interior roof of the car which was coated in a white plastic sort of fabric that was perforated. Eventually the car got given away. I used to have dreams about that car - and actually I just had a dream about the car again last weekend and that was my inspiration for this 38.

"For years, scientists have known that attraction is more likely to happen when people are aroused, be it through laughter, anxiety or fear. Aron tested that theory in 1974 on the gorgeous but spine-chilling heights of the Capilano Canyon Suspension Bridge in Vancouver, British Columbia -- a 5-foot wide, 450-foot, wobbly, swaying length of wooden slats and wire cable suspended 230 feet above rocks and shallow rapids.His research team waited as unsuspecting men, between ages 18 and 35 and unaccompanied by women, crossed over. About halfway across the bridge, each man ran into an attractive young woman claiming to be doing research on beautiful places. She asked him a few questions and gave him her phone number in case he had follow-up questions. The experiment was repeated upriver on a bridge that was wide and sturdy and only 10 feet above a small rivulet. The same attractive coed [female student] met the men, brandishing the same questionnaire.The result? Men crossing the scary bridge rated the woman on the Capilano bridge more attractive. And about half the men who met her called her afterward. Only two of 16 men on the stable bridge called. Fear got their attention and aroused emotional centers in the brain. "People are more likely to feel aroused in a scary setting," Aron says. "It's pretty simple. You're feeling physiologically aroused, and it's ambiguous why. Then you see an attractive person, and you think, 'Oh, that's why.' "...

Any kind of physiological arousal would probably do the trick, Aron concludes from his studies. Couples who ride roller coasters, laugh at a really funny comedian or escape a burning building together get an emotional jolt and could attribute the feeling to the attractiveness of the other.

I read this article about a year ago and found it fascinating. In many ways it makes sense of course. Emotional bonding can take place in an extreme state of physical perilousness.I used to wait tables at Christopher's Cafe (which I don't think is there anymore) in Berkeley, California. One night I was scheduled to work but was also on the verge of being evacuated from my house because of a huge fire (a.k.a Oakland Hills Fire - which in the end burned 6.2 kilometers of area) on the hillside. I notified my colleagues that I would have to leave in case things got worse or there was a wind shift...I went to work ever so slightly panicked (to say the least).That night the restaurant was packed with all the regulars that didn't usually come on that night. Fear stricken faces permeated the place.... People's homes were burning and they decided to come to their favorite restauratnt to have some supper because they didn't know what else to do. It was an intensely bonding evening throughout the whole restaurant.I will never forget that night.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

This work was inspired by my Levi's pants pocket. I rediscovered them in my closet and put them on today. Come to think of it, I got these jeans at Cross-Roads in San Francisco years ago. How I wish there was a Cross-Roads here...

There are no characters today. Sure I have a lot of friends laying around my studio work table - but no one joined in.And on another note, I have to admit that I am quite happy with the title of today's work - (which was lifted from a PJH song) and some how - I think it just says it all.

Note: The area behind Maya is cut out and the edges of the black rectangular shape on the left side are covered in metallic tape which doesn't really come through here in the scan.

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I can honestly say I have never lived so centrally located as I do now. I am close to all forms of public transportation (even though they are all on strike right now...ugh) cafes, bars, restaurants, book stores, grocery stores and oh yeah! brothels. In fact I live above one called Maya (formerly known as Jasmine). Because I live on the 4th floor and the brothel is on the ground floor I don't hear anything (unlike my unlucky friend S. who also lived above a illegal short-term brothel and heard a client growling like a tiger one night) but I do see the occasional client (who have ranged in age from 17 to 70). Actually I park my bike in front of the blackened windows when I come home.

Fortunately 'my' neighborhood brothel is quite tame. There is so much sex trafficking that happens between Eastern Europe and Asia, to Western Europe it is terrible. But prostitution is legal in Germany. Prostitutes have to pay income taxes and even have to charge VAT for their services, to be paid to the tax office....Berlin has initiated a system where prostitutes have to pay their taxes in advance, a set amount per day, to be collected and submitted by the brothel owners...Berlin charges 30 Euros. All of that said I can't help but wonder who and what the women's stories are.